


Pet

by xoxosusiexoxo



Category: South Park
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Master & Servant, Vampires, Werewolves, potential for pairings in the future, tags and warnings subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-13 05:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxosusiexoxo/pseuds/xoxosusiexoxo
Summary: The decrepit streets were smelly. That unpleasant detail was the first thing that made any sense to him and thus it struck him as the most important. Of course it would be gross and stink. His parents had informed him that it was an awful place. What they didn’t tell him was how claustrophobic he’d feel walking through them. The tight bends making up the dank road didn't give him much else to go off of. It was dark and unpleasant; every stone, nook, and cranny seemed to hide something moving just out of the corner of his eye.





	1. Prologue

Kyle Broflovski thought life was simple.

_What an intolerable stench._

Houses, or what could be houses, hugged the stone cobbles on the narrow lane. Damp from the recent showers and peeling wherever possible; the buildings hardly looked stable. None of that really entered his mind. There was a much more pressing issue that struck his sensibilities.

The decrepit streets were _smelly_. That unpleasant detail was the first thing that made any sense to him and thus it struck him as the most important. Of course it would be gross and stink. His parents had informed him that it was an awful place. What they didn’t tell him was how claustrophobic he’d feel walking through them. The tight bends making up the dank road didn't give him much else to go off of. It was dark and unpleasant; every stone, nook, and cranny seemed to hide something moving just out of the corner of his eye.

The only pleasant thing on the lane were the streetlights, pristine and new, somehow out of place with their elaborate lamps and warm lights. They could have been comforting if they weren't so alarmingly out of place.

It gave Kyle chills. He hated disharmony like that.

 _I can't wait until we can go home_.

They were getting farther away from home. Away from the large buildings and kept streets and into the this strange labyrinth of unfamiliar buildings.

His mom had him clutched tightly at her side with his younger brother held to her chest. Her eyes darted to every corner with suspicion. It was such a stark contrast to how his father walked; confidently, mindlessly of his wife and children, with something judgmental in his eyes.

The way he kept his back straight made Kyle do the same  — mimicking his father before he'd realized that that was what he was doing. If his father stood with his nose upturned to their surroundings, so did Kyle.

A particularly jerky movement from one of the many dancing shadows caught Kyle's attention as he walked and he locked eyes with a piercing, icy blue gaze. It was such a stark contrast to the dank colorless streets that it stopped him in his tracks.

No emotion swam in its depths. Not the naive happiness like his brother, the tight disdain like his father, or the fearful suspicion like his mother.

These eyes were empty.

Dead?

No. Kyle could see them move, briefly, assessing the situation before focusing again on Kyle's own startled expression.

He tugged on his mother's side, voice lost in the sudden fear of those icy depths. What could be looking at him with such intense _nothing_? Was it even _real_?

"Bubbala? What is it?" her voice was soft but edged with anxiety.

He tried to find the words. To even find the strength to point.

He was frozen, and his breath had been stolen.

His mother spoke again but the words fell on numb ears and crashed to the cobbles- it forced her to tug his arm and drag his eyes away.

An instant. He couldn't have looked away for more than an instant.

In that time, the blue was gone and there was nothing but the dark stench of the disgusting road. No sign of those haunting eyes.

Kyle shivered and cuddled closer to his mother, forgetting entirely to mimic his father's stiff march. His father had managed to get a few yards ahead while they dallied, and his mother hurried him to catch up.

Kyle moved his feet forward clumsily but dared not to look up from the folds of his mother's dress. No matter how important his father claimed these appearances were, he hated going to the lower town. He hated all the skittering people and horrible smells. Hadn't any of these people ever heard of a _bath_? On one previous occasion, he'd stepped on a suspicious yellow liquid and he still hadn't recovered from the horrified shock that it had caused him.

These people were no better than animals.

Kyle considered life to be simple because for him, it was. He listened to his parents and lived a life of luxury. At the age of six, he'd never once thought to question his reality.

* * *

 Some people quite enjoy causing others to question reality.

Supernatural.

The term describes beings outside of common understanding. Thereby, what is considered supernatural can obviously fluctuate with time and research. Aliens are a popular concept; some people even think the dead can be risen.

However, if an alien were to actually crawl down your chimney and eat Santa’s cookies, whether or not it were taken seriously would also be dependent on the witness, the amount of evidence available, the likelihood of a prank, and of course, the prevalence of the phenomenon.

It’s much easier for the human mind to accept that their fellow man is having a delusion than it is for them to accept that the supernatural has become just another natural course of events.

Undeniable proof is infrequent in this field. Some conspiracy theorists like to use alternative realities to base their hypotheses on. Maybe, in some world far away, there was only one kind of sapient logically thinking two-legged animal. Maybe in another universe, vampires are considered some sort of supernatural myth.

Maybe in some insane version of reality lycans are the only intelligent species to walk the Earth. Maybe in another reality aliens really do exist and crawl down chimneys in order to steal cookies.

Gerald Broflovski liked conspiracy theories though. He loved getting a rise out of people. It was a hobby of his to make mad claims such as the alien thing and leave them as notes randomly scattered across underdeveloped and uneducated areas. He’d gotten lucky a few times now, fooling just enough people into believing his insane claims that the theories spread.

It was a challenge unlike any he had ever faced to keep a straight face when, during a dinner party, Stephen Stotch brought up the theory about alternate realities, as though he were quoting from an academic source.

He’d feigned a coughing fit and excused himself from the table.

Of course Gerald wasn’t insane. He knew that in reality ‘supernatural’ events just didn’t happen. There were only three bipedal species with any grain of intelligence in them and honestly, that was giving the other two too much credit in his opinion.

Did the lycan and humans _really_ count as intelligent? The lycan had _some_ redeeming features, even if he personally found them to be disgusting lower beings, but _humans_? Gerald rolled his eyes at the mere thought of the groveling pigs who lay in the street of the lower town.

Pathetic. Livestock at absolute best. Useless carriers of illness at worst.

For those precise reasons, Gerald had decided ages ago that he would acquire pets for his sons. No need to risk catching some disgusting infection off the street. No complications or scandals. Just a safe source of food that could be easily maintained.

He was a man of means; he could easily afford the cost. As soon as his sons were weaned off of their mother's blood and away from cows, it was time for a pet.

Gerald had long since considered getting one for him and his wife, but Sheila actually preferred the taste of cow blood and he hadn’t yet gotten up the guts to tell her that he didn’t.

Sheila was a complicated woman to disagree with.

Luckily she agreed with them over getting their sons pets. The mere idea that they might risk infections or disease by trying human blood in an unsafe environment set off every alarm for her.

And, if Gerald reasoned, he could probably sneak a drink or two from the pet when no one was paying attention.

* * *

 The concerns of the malicious upper class are just a microcosm of the variety of problems in the world. While there were no shortages of well bred bastards such as Gerald Broflovski, there were plenty of problems his well-educated elite mind would have great difficulty comprehending.

What exactly the word _hunger_ really means, for starters. Those problems felt by those out of his sight. In another part of the city, a young boy waited anxiously.

Kevin counted under his breath, waiting for the signal from his little brother.

His acids gnawed at whichever part of his stomach lining seemed the most edible. It was a familiar enough sensation that he didn’t mind it — he just worried about the sound it might create if his stomach turned.

A sound which could alert the stall below him to his presence and ruin any hope they had of making it out of this unscathed.

 _Five, four_ …

Oh his stomach was going to make this challenging.

He clenched it in hopes of hiding any noise.

He could see Kenny approach from below, just out of sight of the stall vender. Crouched and ready.

 _Three, two, one_.

Time.

Kenny locked eyes with him and with the signal he untied the knot holding up the shade. It dropped the same instance that Kevin began his sprint across the roof. He knew that below the now confused and temporarily blinded vendor, Kenny was gathering fruit into his satchel and making his own escape.

He heard an angry scream and paused, only a moment, before forcing his feet forward. He couldn’t help Kenny if he was caught. He couldn’t.

He had to make it back home. Little baby Karen wouldn’t make it through the night if neither of her brothers made it back.

He had to run.

He swallowed the stomach acid that was attempting to eat him alive and escape the impending danger.

The tiles of the roof cut through his calluses and into the flesh beneath, leaving drops of blood leading to his destination. It didn’t matter. If anyone was following him, they would have an easier time following the grime that coated his feet.

Or maybe the the icy sweat that trailed behind him. It was too cold in the winter for sweat. He was too dehydrated to lose the water. His fear, the adrenaline, and the need to make it away safely all made the salty water escape from his pores.

Not that Kevin was aware of any of this. The poor boy was as dim as they come. Only aware of the need to run and the fear of loss. Only aware that his stomach hurt, his head was spinning, and the edge of the roof was coming up.

He tripped.

Falling over the ledge and into the waiting alleyway.

Death or injury awaited him and all for a few apples and a potato, if they were lucky.

Kevin’s eyes clenched shut. He wouldn’t look death in the eye. He couldn’t bare to.

“ _Ooph_!”

Kevin cracked an eye open. The hard ground never found him. He was on top of something soft, a satchel of fruits and vegetables lying nearby and the metallic smell of something nauseating filling his senses.

He stood up, confused, and looked around the alleyway for any trace of his brother. Perhaps the boy had stashed the goods here and continued his escape? That made sense. He picked up the satchel and started out of the alleyway before stopping.

What could have softened his fall?

The cobblestones of the alley shouldn’t have been so soft.

He should have looked back,  looked down, but he couldn’t.

In the back of his mind he felt there was something _bad_ he would see if he turned around, and he couldn’t question it.

He had to get home to his sister. Kenny would catch up later.

He was sure of it.

* * *

 Being sure of facts, even when they are demonstratively wrong, is an advantage that not everyone in this twisted world can really hold any faith in.

Another involuntary jolt shot through his system in perfect step with the panicked thoughts assailing him. The step he’d just taken, one he’d been so sure of mere moments ago, made his stomach drop to his toes. Was this truly the best course of action? Could anything be the best course of action?

Paralysis and panic.

Tweek Tweak was young enough that it truly seemed unreasonable for him to be questioning something so simple.

All lycan needed to practice making the change. It was a normal part of the developmental process.

Everyone assured him it was normal. Normal, normal, normal. _Do it faster, Tweek. Don’t be so scared, Tweek._

Yet, everything in his body felt on edge, convulsing with a bone-deep panic that he couldn’t shake.

He turned to his father once more, the empty smile of encouragement causing him to cringe. “It feels weird. _Gah_ , can we please do this later?!”

He couldn’t properly modulate his voice. That wasn’t really anything new, but it struck him as particularly disturbing in this instance.

His hands were furry and his spine had extended into a tail, but every fiber of his being screamed to turn around. His father's mouth opened to respond but Tweek interjected quickly, speaking too fast to be truly understood, “I can’t do this!”

“You will.” His father's voice wasn’t firm— it was the same coated syrup he used with customers.

“I won’t!” he argued, he knew what he was capable of! He wasn’t dumb! He wasn’t crazy!

His body was rejecting the transformation, he didn’t know how he knew but he _knew_.

He knew, he knew, he knew.

“Think of what the neighbors would say.”  His father knelt down and Tweek could smell his disapproval. Disappointment.

He could always smell it.

“Why are they talking about _me_ ?! I’m not interesting, this isn’t interesting! They should mind their own business!”  He tried to find the words, the ones that could somehow dissuade his father’s made up mind. “I can’t do it! There’s something _wrong_...”

His father didn’t let him finish, cutting in sharply with a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Tweek. This isn’t up for debate.”

Tweek knew it wasn’t. It never was. He’d never gotten anyone to listen. Just listen. All he wanted was to be heard. Why wouldn’t they just listen? He wasn’t crazy! He wasn’t! He knew his own body, he _knew_.

“Tweek,”  His father warned.

Tweek just closed his eyes, breathing out through his mouth in one long exhale.

He let himself believe for a second that he was wrong. It was just his imagination making a mountain out of an ant-hill. He just felt funny because he’d never forced a transformation before.

Everyone said it was normal. Maybe everyone was right.

He held back tears and accepted that he must be wrong. He had to be. His father wouldn’t make him do something dangerous.

With another shuddery breath and full body jolt, Tweek listened to his father.

And made the worst mistake of his entire life.

* * *

 The true height and scale of mistakes are measured on a subjective scales.  While Tweek’s would be considered hefty by most any standard, Damien Thorn was prepared to make even bigger ones in the name of progress.

His father was gutless. Pathetic. Creating a hierarchy and just leaving it to decay was a lazy use of power. The only way to truly rule was to have absolute control over the mindless peons below without allowing them delusions of grandeur.

Damion clenched his tiny fists. He was still too small to make any difference.

The maids scattered at the sight of his petulant march through the halls, eyes blazing with intent.

Alone in a house this large with no one but servants to entertain him.

The window in the hall offered him a wide view of the city below, expansive and endless, from the large buildings of those who thought that they possessed power to the hoveled huts in the distance, marking the lower town.

They were all pathetic.

_I could crush them all._

He wanted to, more than anything. From the ‘nobles’ his father entertained, stroking their tiny egos, to the swine living in the gutters. They didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him.

Mistakes are funny things in that the scale of them can often be determined by the amount of power in every individual’s grasp.

If one had the power, the means, and temperament, the scale of the mistake could grow to unimaginable heights.

Damion didn’t think about mistakes. He thought about how he could do it better. About how he’d always been able to do it better. About the disappointment he felt for his father’s lax rule. About the changes he would make the moment he took the throne.

He turned away from the window with all the feeble humans, lycans, and vampires. He was above them. He was more powerful.

And with his only parental figure out for a evening of regret, Damion marched to the library.

He was about to make a huge mistake. One that would cost him dearly and everyone else even more so.

To his small mind, thoughts of error were nonexistent.

 _I know what must be done_.

The road to hell is paved with confidence.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyle was promised a huge surprise for his eighth birthday. He was expecting something amazing or fun. A toy or travel plans.

What he got was a huge responsibility.

* * *

The lower town consisted of the castaways and the homeless. That much made sense to those of higher birth. However, if it were that subjection of people alone it wouldn’t be so overpopulated. In the same hovel of the less fortunate was also everyone who could not afford to live in the upper town. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, and of course the guy with no legs. All attempting to scrape by under the weight of economic disparity.

The area contained the majority of the population. Child mortality rate was at an all time high due to contaminated water and limited access to food and medical care. Adults weren't all that better with life expectancy, hitting the forties and declining as time went on due to both living conditions and the occasional unreported murder.

There was really no point in reporting it.

There were only two options to escape this hellhole: marry big or sell yourself. Neither were easy to achieve or even all that more preferable to the squalor.

One could live and die in filth or be a prisoner of those who were of higher birth.

Being a  _ pet _ was one of the few methods of selling yourself that offered any real benefits.  Your family would receive a stipend and your life expectancy would go up significantly.

The only catch were the requirements for the position. Things like  _ perfect health _ weren't easy from a gutter.

Kenneth McCormick was lucky. He didn't have to worry about disease. Well, he did — he'd already died four times this year from a variety of infections but he always came back as good as new.

He just had to time it properly. If he died at  _ just _ the right moment, his newly regenerated body would be in perfect condition.

He hated the idea. Like most children, he had dreams and ambitions; things he would prefer to do or people he would prefer to be with than whichever snobby bastard bought him.

His sister’s cough hadn't gone away in three days. Every time her body wracked with pain as yet more infected germs clogged her throat, he could feel his entire body flinch in sympathy.

He was out of time to put it off. They needed the money for a doctor.

"That's crazy."

Kevin looked at his brother and saw determination. The two were crouched in a corner away from Karen's bed, trying to keep their voices low. Kevin felt his heart drop to his stomach at Kenny's expression.

"I'll go instead!"

Kenny shook his head and took Kevin's hand. It was shaking. Or maybe they were both shaking.

"You would never get accepted. You know that."

"You wouldn't either!" Kevin protested, squeezing his younger brothers hand now in fear.

He knew his baby brother. It was rare for him to grow this determined over anything but once he'd made up his mind...

Kevin's mind flashed to at least a dozen times his brother had made the seemingly impossible happen. It built a lump in his throat.

" _ No _ ."

Kenny shook his head and smiled at his brother, "I've gotta."

The blond boy looked up at their sleeping sister. Kevin's eyes followed and it broke his heart to see her shiver under the lack of sheets.

"For her."

Kevin swallowed a lump that threatened the remainder of his composure.

"Kenny..." he begged, one last attempt to fight the inevitable, "Please, no."

_ What if I lose you both _ ?

Kenny smiled but it did not make it to his eyes. They are the bluest things that Kevin had ever seen. It was entirely unlike the brown eyes he and his sister had. It was so incredibly blue and soon, if Kenny has his way, it will be gone from his life.

Forever.

He didn't like to cry in front of his siblings. He was the oldest. He wanted to be the strongest. He wanted to be the strongest so badly it hurt.

That wasn't him though.

Kenny had always been stronger than him and Karen, was smarter than them both. He was big and dumb, and he couldn't do anything to protect either of his siblings.

The tears were big and burned his cheeks on the way down; one dislodged some dirt by his eyelashes and caused it to mix in and the pain made him cry harder, desperately biting his fist to hold in the sobs.

Kenny held his hand and said nothing. Just let him grieve the loss he would never be able to recover from.

* * *

 

The water was cold before it was warm. Kenny was made relatively sure that it wasn’t a concession made for his comfort but rather for the countless gloved hands now scrubbing at him relentlessly.

“Stay still,” one ordered in time with another, shoving the course material of some sort of scrubber betweeen his buttcheeks. Kenny tried not to squirm but found he didn’t really have enough time to register that discomfort. Another scrubber had found his arm pits and someone else was nearly pulling his hair out. Kenny slammed his eyes shut just before a wet and soapy liquid ran down his lids.

They really were aiming for every inch of him.

It was an odd sort of terror. They were already scrubbing his face so he couldn’t open his eyes He felt weightless and pulled in every direction. At the mercy of whatever these strangers might do or however they might decide to treat him.

He found himself accepting it. Holding his breath and waiting for whatever was to come, trying not to tense his muscles, every time he did they were rougher in order to twist his body in the direction they needed. If his arm was too stiff, they would jerk it roughly with a warning,  _ ‘Move!’, _ so hard he wondered a few times if the limb would get torn off.

Every second was followed by an even more violating one. His body was sore with the rough treatment but they were eager to scrub and re-scrub everywhere. He could feel the beginnings of a rash on his neck from the attention.

Then more cold water was dumped on him. He dared to squint, opening his eyes only to flinch back involuntarily as yet more hands reached out.

“ _ Hold still _ ,” one said. Kenny forced himself to still as several more sponges descended. He squeezed his eyes shut.

A finger wiggled around in his nose and took its contents. Something small swiveled around in his ear. A sharp pain brought him back to the nose as some nostril hair was ripped out. Something that felt sharp was grazing under his toe and fingernails. Kenny realized that moving in this situation might result in actual injury.

If he started bleeding here, would they descend on him in a blood frenzy like how the stories said? Would he be murdered and forced to repeat this entire horrible affair?

A sponge was not so gently cleaning every wrinkle on his balls, and he held in the flinch of pain. He wanted to run. The overly clinical and invasive ‘cleaning’ was too much.

Someone actually jerked his dick to the side and he let out a whimper of pain. It caused another one of them to cram something in his mouth.

For a brief moment of terror he wondered what it was before he tasted the mint and bristles.

“Open wider.” The snappish response was so agitated. Kenny couldn’t even think to disobey.

Not that he would. He’d chosen this. He tried over and over again to remind himself that this was the path he’d  _ chosen _ . The situation he wanted to create.

The brush was pushed so deep into the back of his throat that he gagged. The jolt made another one of them hold his face still with vice-like strength.

He couldn’t move a single toe he realized. Every part of him had some attention being paid and any movement would be met by reprimand or more pain. Usually both.

He tried not to gag when the toothbrush hit the back of his throat again, he failed but it didn’t matter. They had him so secured that even gagging caused no jolting movement.

Claustrophobia suddenly assailed him. He couldn’t  _ move _ . Not a single inch. He couldn’t  _ move _ . Was he even still alive? The random pricks of pain reminded him that he had to be but it felt like every bit of autonomy had been taken away.

Was this what his life would be from now on? Every movement dictated? Scrubbed clean until he felt like he would bleed?

Was he going to be trapped inside his body like a motionless doll who existed for a single purpose?

He accepted this.

Another wave of cool water. He didn’t even bother opening his eyes this time.

He  _ thought _ he’d accepted this. He didn’t know what it would truly entail and the lack of information ran circles around his imagination, building up the fear until he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

Screaming seemed the only sane thing to do, but he dared not even move the muscles in his throat.

Round three was when he started trying to dissociate from his body. Find a way to somehow not be living in his own skin.

Round three was when Kenny found a way to cope with the pain and hopelessness of the situation. As they pulled at his hair and invaded his crevices with their instruments, stinging soap making it’s nasty taste into his mouth, the creatures controlling him not caring in the least about the mixture of paste with soap.

He focused on a spot of light behind his own eye and tried to track it down. Tried to find its source and stare it down.

It helped, if only a little. But the cleaning had only begun.

* * *

White walls and white ceiling. Kenny’s fingers traced the wall while others milled about. It wasn’t a cage but there was no clear way out of the room and, realistically, no reason he should try escaping.

The blond boy felt raw. He’d swear an entire layer of skin had been scrubbed off in the cleaning process. It could have felt refreshing if not for the tingly pain that accompanied it.

Shadows made indistinct patterns on the walls, it made it difficult to determine a light source and even more difficult for him to see the other people as anything but soulless wraiths.

Was he just a soulless wraith now?

It was a daunting feeling to look around and see figures just as clean and just as empty, wandering or sitting but no one looked directly at one another. White walls, a white ceiling, and white cloth concealing empty humans.

Were they in despair?

...was he?

Kenny sat against the wall and winced as it reminded him how sore he was.

It wasn’t a sort of sore he’d experienced before. He was used to feeling sick or gross. He’d felt his own skin flayed from his bones.

He hadn’t felt this strange dissociation with his own body. It didn’t feel like his body anymore. There was nothing to remind him of his identity.

He was a blond boy in a white room surrounded by wraiths. The thought struck him so severely he curled in on himself. Hiding his face in his knees and wishing the world away.

He felt impossibly small in a world that would take all of his autonomy away. They had already taken it from him.

He was scared if he opened his mouth all he would do was scream.

Was that why the wraiths were so silent? Were they holding in screams of their own?

A door opened soundlessly. The only tell being the sound of confident steps and arrogant voices.

“...s you can see, we have a variety of shapes and sizes available.”

“I’m just browsing for today, my wife insisted I do some research.” There was a pause for the men to chuckle at the absurdity of women, “It’s actually for my son. He’s not going to be needing it for a few years now.”

“Oh! Actually, it’s much better to acquire a pet a few years earlier.”

The man sounded puzzled, “Why? Won’t it just take up space?”

“You know how those early years are, hormones going wild and your body is going through all sorts of changes.”

They shared a laugh again. “Boy, do I ever.”

“Well, especially for those early years there’s more likely to be… accidents,” the man made it sound so flippant. He was referring to deaths as though they were as simple as stubbing a toe, “When a pet is introduced earlier, kids grow attached and they’re less likely to ruin a good investment.”

“I don’t know if I want my son growing attached to one of these…” his voice stopped, searching for a word that could bequeath a sufficient amount of disgust, “ _ Things _ .”

The salesman chuckled, “While I understand your concern, I wouldn’t get too worried about that. It’s more akin to the attachment a child would feel towards a favorite toy.”

“Is that so?” the man sounded like he was coming around and the specific tenor of interest filled the room with anxiety.

The men weren’t at all affected, but to the products for sale, the realization that one would be leaving this cage entered their awareness.

As horrible as the white walls and cleaning experience had been, nothing was worse than the terror of the unknown.

Kenny was not immune to that trill of panic, clenching his eyes shut and willing himself to be smaller. Invisible.

“Maybe I should get him one early…” there was too much intrigued delight in that voice for comfort — it was sinister. “It’s about time he was old enough to start learning responsibility too. This could be good for him.”

The salesmen clapped. “What sort of pet are you looking for?” he whistled and all the wraiths knew what it meant.

Lining up one by one, daring not even to look up from the ground and into the face of despair. Kenny found himself following along numbly. He couldn’t recall when he stood but he could see his own feet and the feet of those standing nearby.

The man hummed, “What would you recommend?”

“How old is your son? It’s best to get one around the same age or younger, so that it lasts for as long as possible.”

“I hadn't thought about that. That makes a lot of sense though. He turns eight next month. Do you have one in that range?”

Kenny couldn’t feel his feet. He couldn’t even remember his own age. He knew with certainty he was within the  _ range _ though and it made bile move into his throat. He tried to remember if he’d seen other children milling about but the wraiths looked ageless to him. Figureless. Indistinct.

He didn’t dare look up to find out for fear of drawing attention to himself.

“We have a few.”

_ No, no, no... _

“Numbers thirteen, eight, twenty-four, and nineteen.”

_ No, no, no _ ...

Dread fueling every step, Kenny responded to his assigned number listening to the sound of shuffling nearby. They stepped forward and stood in a line as instructed.

He could see feet smaller than his own to his left.

His own fear doubled at the knowledge.  _ Last as long as possible _ .  _ They want us to last as long as possible. _

It filled him with a special dread. One unlike his previous terror.

The fear he’d felt when he told his brother what he had to do.

Acceptance.

Kenny looked away from the tiny feet and up to the face of his new  _ master _ .

The brown haired man was busy looking over each of the tiny forms, looking for abnormalities on a scale Kenny couldn’t possibly understand.

The salesman was rattling off points as they went, this one is a specific breed or gender of ‘human’. This one could be trained to do this or that.

Kenny held his gaze firm, waiting for the attention that would eventually fall on him.

The man’s eyes eventually locked with his own and his eyebrow quirked upwards, surprised at the attention.

Kenny couldn’t speak. He’d scream.

He couldn’t move. He’d run.

He looked up and allowed his eyes to transfer the message.

_ Pick me _ .

“What about this one?” the man sounded quizzical. Confused. Curious.

“Male. Obedient. It actually volunteered for the program, which is unusual for its age.” the salesman flipped through some papers, “It doesn’t talk much. We’re not sure if it can talk.”

Something distinctly sinister flashed in the man's eyes, “Really? That’s interesting.”

They were going to move on. To where the tiny feet were.

Kenny couldn’t let that happen.

The feet were smaller than Karen’s.

He couldn’t speak. He’d scream.

He couldn’t move. He’d run.

He hated the man in front of him more than he’d hated anything in his entire life.

It was an act of desperation. One last attempt to draw the horrible mans attention away from the nubile option.

He tilted his head to the side and exposed as much of his neck as possible. It was enough to bring even the salesman's rambling to a halt.

“I haven’t seen that before... “ he remarked, eyes trained on Kenny.

It was a senseless sacrifice. If Kenny had been thinking he would have known that postponing the child’s purchase wouldn’t save them. Perhaps an even more deplorable creep would walk in here the second Kenny was walked out and immediately zero in on the youngest child in the room.

Kenny couldn’t get those tiny feet out of his head.. He couldn’t stop imagining they were Karen’s. He couldn’t stop the sense of blinding fear that he couldn’t protect his sister.

It was a senseless act but ultimately effective.

The man only looked over the smaller child briefly before looking back to Kenny.

His gaze felt like maggots crawling over raw flesh. Kenny fought not to look away. Fought not to scream. Fought not to run.

“This one might be a good fit for us.” he said finally, turning back to the salesman. “I need to talk over the purchase with my wife. Can you put it on hold?”

“Certainly!” The conversation developed into shop talk and the others were allowed to mill around the room freely.

Kenny stood, still as a statue and feeling impossibly small. His limited power had only bought the other children  _ time, _ and who could even know how long that would last?

He didn’t regret his decision yet. This man made him sick, but he would do it all over again if it meant standing in between a defenseless kid and this creep.

The man smiled as he talked. It was a tight and calculating grin full of arrogance.

He started yet another battle to hold in bile.

A blond pet in a white room, bought and sold. No name. No identity.

No home.

* * *

 

_ He's scrawny. _

Kyle furrowed his brow and watched as the other boy was forcefully ushered towards him, his parents matching expressions of expectation doing absolutely nothing to ease the tension building inside him.

_ He looks dirty _ .

"Kyle, bubbala, this is your pet." His mother's voice was honey coated with excitement and nerves.

"You have to feed it and keep it alive," his father admonished sternly before cracking into his own excited smile, "This is a big step. You're being trusted with a huge responsibility."

Kyle wasn't as excited. Neither was his new pet.

Shocking blue eyes stared at him wearily from behind layer upon layer of fabric. It struck him as familiar in a stomach tossing way.

“Can I get a different one?” he didn’t mean to sound quite so petulant but there wasn’t any stopping it after it had come out.

Sheila’s smile dropped as she looked at her son, automatically taking on a the stern posture she adopted before a lecture.

Kyle didn’t want to hear it. He just didn’t want this pet. He turned a pleading look towards his father, his last hope of escape.

Gerald shrugged helplessly out of Sheila’s view, careful to keep his options as open as possible. Stay on his wife’s side but let her take the brunt of whatever fall out might occur with their children. A coward’s ploy.

The whole family looked at odds but unwilling to argue.

Kenny didn’t respond in the slightest. Silent and keeping his eyes on all the very dangerous people present. People he would be forced to call ‘master’ from this day forward.

A cold pit sat in his stomach.

Did he have to say that?

Did he have to say anything at all?

Pets are, after all, unable to communicate. If that’s what he was from this day forward, what use was it to pretend he was human?

“Kyle, you need to understand how serious this is.” Sheila began, pushing Kenny forward to make her point, “This creature is your  _ responsibility _ from this day forward. Without you, it would die.”

“Which is exactly why I’m telling you I want a different one!” Kyle burst, unable to contain himself despite the thin ice already cracking beneath him. “It’s weird looking!”

Kenny kept his stare even, not even twitching in response.

“They’re all weird looking.” Gerald amended, gently, “And we can’t just return it or exchange it. It doesn’t work like that, Buddy.”

Kyle frowned, turning his head to glare at Kenny as if he was the cause of all of this.

Kenny offered nothing in response. A blank stare and empty silence.

_ I hate it. _ Kyle bit down the remark, knowing that even one more comment would result in his mother's wrath.

“Do you understand now, Bubbala?”

He nodded tersely and held out his hand to the pet, “I’m Kyle. What’s your name?”

The words had barely gotten out of him before his father's chiding voice interjected, “There’s no need for that. It’s your pet, you can call it whatever you like.” His voice dipped with seriousness, “It’s dangerous to treat it as anything more.”

Kyle’s hand dropped to his side and still,  _ still _ the scrawny creature said nothing. Was it mute?

From the first time he was introduced to his pet, Kyle knew it would be a long, miserable, and unpleasant experience.

Kenny didn’t need to meet his new ‘master’ to know this as truth, but it was certainly reaffirmed by the snotty brat literally upturning his nose as he swept away from the scene, gesturing for Kenny to follow.

He was almost tempted to stand there dumbly, let this Kyle kid look like an idiot as he stormed off. As obnoxious as Kyle seemed though, no one was worse than the way Gerald still made him uneasy.

He followed silently after the brat, trying not to let his eagerness to get away from the adults too obvious. There was a dark-haired boy peeking into the front hall from another room but Kenny tried not to look at him.

He tried not to look anywhere but the sweeping figure of agitation he was supposed to listen to from now on, but it was somewhat difficult.

To say this house was beyond his expectations would be a huge understatement. It was well beyond even his imagination of what to expect.

The ceiling was decorated with patterns and art, adorned with light that was equally intricate. He had no word for the distended source of light covered in gems and golden weaves but he found everything about it entrancing. He could follow the patterns all the way up the chain that held it from the ceiling and branching out from there all the way to the walls.

The huge hall had walls with golden patterns and gorgeous paintings. Some were of scenery from places Kenny could scarcely imagine. Some were of his new masters. The walls led to furniture that Kenny longed to touch. Designs that matched the intricate handiwork from the ceiling and all sorts of interesting trinkets that were probably worth more than his own life just resting there for anyone to take.

If he was still in the business of pickpocketing for their next meal, he would have pocketed anything that wasn’t nailed down.

It was no wonder this strange system fed his entire family and gave them a stipend. These creatures had enough to set Kenny’s family for life just in their front hall.

The bitter thought reminded Kenny precisely what he was supposed to be doing and he looked for the red-headed brat he’d been following only to find the hall empty. There were no adults. No children. He couldn’t even see the front door.

Had he taken a wrong turn while staring at the horrible magnificence of the house?

Kenny’s earlier fears crawled up from his toes and made his skin crawl. He felt like the walls were watching him. He most likely wasn’t supposed to be alone here.

He was going to get in trouble. What sort of punishment would these creatures issue? He searched with his eyes for anything familiar but it was all the same familiar gorgeous patterns. He had no idea which direction had led him here.

Something tugged at his pant leg and he yelped, looking down into dark eyes and a curious face.

It was the boy who had peeked. He must have followed him.

“Hewwo!” the boy gurgled, smiling toothly and revealing his enlarged canines.

Kenny almost pulled his leg away in fear. What if it bit his leg? What if he was eaten in some empty hall away from all witnesses?

The boy frowned at Kenny’s nonexistence response, trying again with a new tug, “Hewwo!”

The sound was what did it.

Kenny knelt down and took in the boys appearance, only a bit younger than Karen, “Hello.”

His voice felt hoarse from disuse. It satisfied his little stalker though and the smile widened again.

“Ike!” he cried, pointing to himself. Kenny wondered if he hadn’t learned to form complete sentences yet.

He smiled softly, as terrible as all this was, this child hadn’t done anything to him as of yet and a part of him longed for the companionship he’d lost with his own siblings.

“Kenny.” he replied while holding out his hand. The child gripped it eagerly, clearly having no idea it was an attempt at a hand shake and having the time of his life playing with Kenny’s palm.

He could easily remember when Karen was this small. It wasn’t that long ago.

She smiled more back then. The world hadn’t given her as many reasons to frown. It hadn’t given her a reason to cough yet either.

“What are you doing?”

Kenny froze, there was so much accusation in that voice he couldn't do anything but stare into the eyes of the child who also looked alarmed.

The march of footsteps all too close is what drew them to look up though and into Kyle’s blaring eyes.

“Don’t touch my brother!” Kyle ordered and turned his offended look to Ike, “Don’t touch my pet! Mom and dad got it for  _ me _ , not you!”

Kenny withdrew his hand hesitantly, the child didn’t seem to really comprehend the command though and just looked at his brother with the same smile it had given Kenny, “Kyle!”

The boy frowned; he didn’t like not being understood. Kenny watched the next few moments in mute horror.

“Are you ready, Ike?”

Ike shook his head, “No!” he burbled.

Kyle’s leg drew back in an arc and Kenny realized too late why, “Kick the baby!”

As Ike flew across the hall crying, “Don’t kick the baby!” Kenny finally unfroze, standing to his full height and ready to rush to the child’s aid.

Ike, however, happily burbled and giggled when he landed, wandering off for his mother and leaving Kenny with his adrenaline pumping and nothing to do.

He turned to Kyle half ready to show the bratty bastard what it felt like to be kicked but the shit-head was already sweeping down the hall again.

“Follow me,” he commanded as he went.

Kenny clenched and unclenched his hands.

Karen’s life was in his hands. Without this ‘position’, they would be destitute. Kevin’s life was in his hands.

He couldn’t make a big deal over this.

He couldn’t speak or he’d scream.

He shouldn’t have moved. It caused him to storm forward, finding the arrogant assholes shoulder and spinning him like a top.

Kyle looked completely bewildered and Kenny had to actually bite his tongue to stop from yelling.

He tasted blood as he gripped the other boys shoulder and glared. Willing the boy to know. Willing the change he couldn’t ask for but demanded.

Kyle tried to flinch away from his grip but couldn’t escape it and cried out in pain, “Let go of me!”

_ Pain sure hurts, don’t it? _ He wanted to taunt him. Take apart everything that made this piece of crap so disgusting.  _ Hurts a lot more when you’re a defenseless baby. _

He couldn’t let the words out.

His hand dropped from Kyle’s shoulder and he glared at his new master.

He could play obedient and play mute. He couldn’t play evil.

“Do you really think he’s ready for this level of responsibility?” Sheila scooped up her youngest son as he toddled over, babbling incoherently about his latest adventures as a toddler. Neither of his parents were listening.

Gerald sank into his armchair. He was ready for his wife’s worrying but it didn’t make it any less obnoxious.

“That’s why we’re giving him the responsibility. Worst case scenario, the pet dies and we have to get a new one. It’s a good way for him to start learning responsibility.”

Gerald omitted how displeased he would be if Kyle wasted the significant sum he’d paid for the damn pet. It wouldn’t help him here.

Sheila nodded hesitantly. She wasn’t sold.

“Should we have gotten him something else as well? He really doesn’t like his gift.”

“He’ll understand with time the practicality of it. Don’t worry so much; our boy is smart. Just give him time.” Gerald kept his voice carefully even and pretended to focus on cleaning his glasses. “If you’re so worried, I can keep a close eye on the situation.”

Sheila relaxed a bit. Stroking Ike’s head, she smiled at her husband, “Would you? I have my hands full with Ike already and we don’t even know if the pet is house trained.”

Gerald smiled reassuringly while he placed his glasses back on. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take care of it.”

The thing was sitting silently in the corner of Kyle’s room. Its eyes were still trained on him but with none of the fire from earlier.

Kyle restrained himself from gripping his shoulder. He felt like he probably had a hand shaped bruise there now. After the  _ thing _ had released him, it had lapsed back into placid silence, following him obediently.

Kyle wanted to run back to his father, show him the bruise, explain that his ‘pet’ was defective and demand a new one.

It was probably the quirk in the pet’s expression that stopped him. He felt like he’d lose if he did that.

Besides, humans are supposed to be much weaker! Kyle didn’t want to admit he’d felt scared, even for a moment, because of a  _ human _ . That was worse than being beat up by a girl!

This human didn’t seem weak though.

Kyle couldn’t tell if he was dumb or mute or both. But weak was off the table. His ironclad grip and seering eyes were confirmation of that.

_ Kenny. _

If he’d heard correctly. The thing had told Ike a name. Absurd.

His father had just said that the pet would be called anything he called it.

“Don’t you talk?” Kyle snapped, wanting to confirm that the voice he’d heard had in fact been the pet.

It was a soft voice. Sweet and calm.

The pet showed no sign he’d even heard Kyle. It rankled him more than anything to be ignored and he shot to his feet, “Well?”

The pet watched him move. It was so quiet.

Kyle decided to go for broke, “I know you can! I heard you talk to Ike!”

There. It was subtle but the boy frowned. Kyle wanted to make an approach to get a closer look but decided against it after a throb from his shoulder reminded him that this particular human was dangerous.

“You’re  _ my _ pet, how come you’ll talk to Ike but not me?” he stomped once, hoping it made his point clear. He didn’t bother to wait for an answer that probably wouldn’t come. “Tell me your name or I’ll give you a terrible one!”

The creature made no move. His expression as empty as ever. Kyle wondered if maybe he’d imagined any reaction and the voice. The damn thing was broken.

“ _ Fine _ !” Kyle wracked his brain for something awful, something he would hate to be called, “What about  _ Princess _ ?”

No response.

Kyle frowned. This was getting him nowhere.

“If you’re going to act like that, you don’t deserve a name.” Kyle decided, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll just call you Pet. That’s all you are.”

No response. This was the worst birthday in Kyle’s memory. Normally his parents would shower him in gifts and treats. This year they gave him a broken, mute, weird human thing. Kyle hated it.

“Get out of my sight!” Kyle huffed.

The boy stood and it caused Kyle to stumble backwards, nearly falling onto his bed. It was immediately apparent there was no need to back up though. The pet found his closet, opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind him.

Kyle reacted before his brain caught up, “Get out of my closet!”

The door opened and out came the boy, his face still a blank slate, but Kyle could  _ swear _ there was something twinkling in his eyes.

This time, it walked sedately over to Kyle and he jerked away, only to realize he was aiming for the bed. The pet crawled onto the bed and under the covers.

_ Get out of my sight. _

Kyle blanched.

The dirty thing was on his  _ bed _ . He was going to catch some awful human disease now!

“Get off of my bed!” his voice had gone up in pitch with his horror. Again, the boy obeyed but now crawled under the bed.

That was somehow the worst of all. Kyle backed away from his bed in a hurry. Fearful of the invisible boy who could now dart his vice like grip from anywhere beneath the curtain of sheets.

It clicked finally why this stupid thing was wandering his room.

“Come back to my sight.” He reversed the order, hoping the thing chose to obey.

The pet revealed itself, standing up and closing the distance between them until they were almost nose to nose in one swift movement.

Kyle lost his balance and fell on his ass. He heard what sounded like a laugh but when he looked up the creature was as stone faced as ever.

Kyle colored. He was being  _ toyed  _ with. The  _ pet _ was supposed to be the damn toy!

Kyle pointed hurriedly in a corner away from him, “Go over there!”

As with the previous commands, the creature obeyed. Kyle watched it go until he realized his mistake. He’d pointed towards the window.

He thought for a moment, just a moment, that it wouldn’t matter. And then the pet unlatched the window, walking out onto the balcony. Kyle rushed to his feet and ran out, just in time to see the pet standing against the railing.

It was facing him. Kyle relaxed his shoulders. Why was he even worried? Even this defective creature wasn’t dumb enough to…

Air caught in Kyle’s throat as he saw his pet begin to fall backwards, a smile hiding the emptiness in his eyes.

Kyle shot forward just in time and took the boys hand, pulling him forcefully back away from the danger.

They both tumbled backwards into the room and Kyle felt like the air had been entirely knocked out of him. He could feel the pet breathing on top of him.

_ Breathing. Alive. Warm. _

Kyle found air and found whatever parts of the boy he could grip, “ _ Don’t _ do that!”

He hated the damn thing but he didn’t want it to die.

The creature nodded into his chest but made no effort to escape his grip. Kyle realized too late that his desperation had led him to something resembling a hug and he scrambled back and away from the dumb thing.

The layers of clothes were disheveled now and Kyle could spot blond hair and that same twinkle in his eyes. Mischief?

It wasn’t a kind expression. Kyle clenched his fists. So the damn thing would be obedient but required  _ specific _ instruction.

The temptation to complain to his parents reared itself again but he hated the idea of  _ losing _ to something so  _ stupid. _

“Sit in the corner of the room. Don’t cause trouble.” Kyle stood, dusting himself off and heart still beating a mile a minute from the momentary panic. A thought occurred to him.

“Tell me your name.”

Maybe it couldn’t refuse a command. Kyle still couldn’t stand that it hadn’t spoken a word.

The creature said nothing, merely made its way back to the corner and watched him silently.

* * *

 

The night sky was expansive.

Kenny could hear Kyle’s even breathing from inside the bedroom but he didn’t bother to check that the brat stayed asleep.

The sky was large and covered in stars. Arguably only two, maybe three dull colors could be spotted at this time of night but all the same, it somehow felt more colorful than the well decorated house he stood just outside of.

It didn’t feel lived in. Every room looked the same. Every decoration was neat and organized.

The sky let him imagine for a second he didn’t have to go back inside the empty home. Gerald gave him goosebumps, Sheila was intimidating, and Kyle was the biggest brat he’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. Ike seemed pretty okay. Kenny hoped that his gurgled baby speak was just his age and not caused by brain damage from one too many kicks.

If it turned out to be the latter, Kenny wasn’t really sure what he’d do. On one hand, he had no obligation to this child who probably would grow to mistreat him as the rest of the family was intent on.

On the other hand, Ike was maybe three years old, at most, and his older brother was kicking him around. Kenny clenched his fist at the thought.

Any satisfaction he got by messing around with Kyle was constantly outweighed by the knowledge that he had no real power in this situation.

He couldn’t protect the baby. He couldn’t even protect himself.

The sky didn’t make any such oppressive statements. It just hung stars like the beautiful lights he’d seen inside the house. Countless stars in the sky and there was no visible strain.

Kenny wondered if he could handle that weight. Holding up that many stars. He wanted to protect what little he could. As much as he could.

Karen. Kevin. The child from the pet shop. Ike.

Four stars and he wasn’t sure he could handle the weight of even one.

How did the sky pull it off? He leaned against the ledge and let the cool night air caress his face and brush away his concerns.

For just a few hours before dawn, he could pretend, with the sky above it no different than his home in the shambles of lower town. There was no brat inside the room or stars he couldn’t hold out of harm’s way.

Free and expansive like the sky.

* * *

 

The house settled into the peace of night.

The halls were empty of servants, nannies, and tutors alike. The family set to rest in each of their luxurious beds and were sound asleep.

All but one.

Gerald sat in his office and took a sip from his glass before blanching at the taste.

It was harder to stomach the ridiculous diet his wife had him on with an even better option so close at hand.

Tonight, he would sip from this pathetic glass and write a series of pamphlets regarding a particularly cruel rumor he was going to spread. The Tucker family would have all sorts of fun answering inquiries about the validity of these claims. In particular, Thomas’s whore of a wife would be on the receiving end of quite a few looks.

Tonight he would write and drink in peace.

_ Just for tonight. _

He smiled into his work.

He’d have to wait. If he acted too quickly Sheila might get suspicious. It was important he created the right timing. The right opportunity.

Once he’d prepared the perfect timing… well, he’d be off this miserable diet and the thought alone was enough to delight him.

Getting Kyle a pet was the best idea idea he’d ever had.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The ground crunched in between his steps, gathering specks of dirt and leaves in every nook. He paid it no mind as he continued to prowl forward, further and further into the deepest recesses of the forest. The trees each had their own distinct scent despite their similarities in appearance.

The one just to his left was used as a lovers’ hideaway, the one just up ahead had been the sight of a murder.

It was strange how close the two scents were, distinct and mingling among the brush. He made sure to smell everything, to take in every detail. He couldn’t risk getting lost.

He might accidentally return home if he didn’t keep track of every turn he took. The forest gave no answers to direction but plenty on the past.

He wanted to know everything about the past. He wanted to know who might pass by again. Who might find him if he rests in the nestles by the old oak tree.

His heart thudded anxiously against his chest at those swirling thoughts. He couldn’t return and he couldn’t press on. What could he do?

Nothing.

Tweek allowed the weight of the world to push down on his haunches, whimpering as his stomach touched the cool earth.

If he was a person he could enter any town and disappear. No one would know at first sight _what_ or _who_ he was. He could hide among the humans until he felt safe again.

He’d never feel safe.

He wasn’t a person though. He couldn’t shift.

Tweek forced his uneasy paws to support his weight and stood again, continuing to wander through the trees, careful to never  backtrack, careful to keep an ear out for anything familiar.

Anyone familiar.

He couldn’t go home. Not anymore. Not after that. For two years he’d endured their prodding and questions, the shame and accusations…

At least he thought it was two years. Time was a funny thing in this form. He remembered looking to clocks before all this. Now he’d smell the twilight and hear the morning birds. He could recall cycles of these events but numbers blended into one another. They were just harder to retain in this form.

They were so irrelevant when compared to the taste of meat and the sound of crackling leaves.

His priorities had changed. He couldn’t trace how or where precisely but he couldn’t stay chained up anymore.

He needed to feel the cool air around him.

A gathering of weeds through a thicket caught his attention, a rabbit was making its way through and nibbling on a plant as it went.

Tweek licked his chomps and allowed his footsteps to quiet, blending into the forest as if he were just another drifting leaf.

Too long hidden from the world and imprisoned in what should be his home.

He couldn’t go back.

And he couldn’t change back.

* * *

Time  moves in strange ways.

One could stare at a clock for any number of hours and realize that only a few seconds have in actuality passed by.

It’s always been a particular skill of Craig’s to keep an accurate eye on the time as it edges by. Slowly moving with it and taking his time to assess every situation as it comes.

His first sign that something was very wrong was when everyone else’s time changed dramatically.

His mother who would often be awake long before anyone else, already bustling around the estate to get an early start on her day, stayed in her room long after everyone had started.

His father took the opposite approach with his time. Up earlier than normal and precisely on time to everything, regardless of how he might normally have people wait.

His sister responded by slowing down her normal activities, watching her parents for any cause for alarm. Her brother for a reason.

Craig didn’t change at all. He got up at his normal hour, prepared for his day, and watched the quelled panic around him with the same bored eyes he would use any other day.

There was no sense changing up his time to match with the others. And certainly no reason he should approach anyone about the muted chaos.

If it was something he ought to know about, he was sure someone would let him know. Otherwise, he had his own priorities.

One of those priorities had been to show Token Black the hat he had just completed for his beloved pet, Stripe.

This was when the day took a turn for the worse.

Craig stared at his father with incomprehension, “Why would the Black’s cancel their visit?”

His father looked uncomfortable, shifted from foot to foot, and tried to smile reassuringly at his son. He was terrible at it. Thomas didn’t smile much to begin with and the forced expression was more alarming than comforting.

“Something urgent came up.” His father dodged, and couldn’t even look directly at his son as he said it.

Craig frowned, it wasn’t much of a change from his normal flatline but those that knew him could recognize the twitch of emotion, “Why can’t Token still come over?”

“It’s…” Thomas kneeled down to his sons height, placing a hand on the boys shoulder, “It’s complicated, alright?”

“When is he going to come then?”

This is the precise moment in time that Craig’s little world crashed. His father looked away with uncertainty and it said more than words could.

Token might never come over again.

A million demands for why died on his tongue. He wouldn’t get any answers from his father.

Craig slumped his shoulders and nodded, eyes downcast.

He thought of the tiny little top hat he’d carefully put together. He’d finished it three whole days ago but he’d been waiting for his friend’s visit before he even showed it to Stripe. He’d diligently kept track of the time between making it and it’s grand reveal.

It was the most alone Craig had felt in his entire life. Whatever else his father had to say wasn’t making its way to his ears. He stood numbly until with one final shoulder pat, his father was satisfied that he had explained all that could be explained.

A whole lot of nothing.

Craig walked away from the exchange, making his way through the halls of his house timelessly. How long had it taken him? Where were his feet taking him? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t care to be sure. His normal steps were so deliberate and now he didn’t know where he could go.

His feet took him down the familiar path to his own room as they had loyally done for so many years now, and he found his bed and curled up beneath the covers. Now he was off his own schedule like his mother.

He finally let the tears leak out once he’d successfully hidden his face. Cool liquid dampening his pillow, silently escaping in his now entirely silent house.

* * *

Thomas paced outside his wife's door.

She hadn’t stopped crying since the news had come in. He wasn’t trained to handle this sort of conflict. He had a specific set of skills he used for work and a specific set of skills he used for his home life.

Neither of those involved his wife sobbing.

She was a strong woman, a kind woman, even during marital disagreements they’d never found a reason to cause such emotional distress to one another.

He trusted his wife.

Thomas paused in his pace to glance nervously at the door to his shared bedroom.

He trusted her. He knew the foul rumor had to be false.

She wouldn’t do that to him. To their children. She wouldn’t be crying if it were true…

...right?

Thomas sucked in air and knocked on the door. He wasn’t prepared for anything he might find on the other side. He knew that, but he also knew that he wasn’t a coward.

His wife was on the other side of that door completely lost, and even if he was lost too, it was better to be lost together.

“Laura?” his voice shook and that scared him, “I’m coming in.”

They could get through this together.

* * *

 

Tweek’s entire snout wrinkled in distaste.

Vampires.

He could count the number of times he’d come in close proximity of a vampire on one hand but that didn’t make the smell any less memorable. You only needed to inhale their brand of arrogance and bloodshed once before you were forever aware of it.

Perhaps he’d ventured too far in this direction. He’d made it a fair distance away from his home but the acres of woods between the cage and his current location gave him no comfort.

So as his steps became more frantic so did his need to reach the edge, to reach something, to get away, to escape, to escape, to _escape_ …

And now he could smell vampires of all things because he’d chosen to sprint recklessly through the woods.

Tweek rubbed his snout against the ground to mask the stench somewhat before he thought better of it. It would be better to zero in on it and figure out which direction to avoid.

The smell was stronger than ever when he’d raised his head and he flinched back from it. His head swiveled to find a source but all he could find were trees and more trees. No noise.

Weren’t vampires supposed to be silent before they struck? The hair on Tweek’s spine stood on end and he growled lowly at the mystery around him.

A crunch of leaves caused him to jump well into the air and whirl to see a startled boy.

Or at least Tweek could smell that particular emotion. Whether or not the boy in front of him actually felt it was drawn into question by the entirely nonplussed expression on his face.

Tweek growled a warning and he smelled fear. The boy’s face still didn’t move, his blue eyes staring boredly at Tweek’s own eyes.

It was strange. It was enough for Tweek to forget the other prominent smell. At least momentarily.

The boy remained completely still, his mouth dropping open into an _o_ shape as he stood entirely still.

_Wait… isn’t he…_

Tweek’s tail tucked between his legs as he backed away from the strange noirette. Vampire. Definitely a vampire.

Was that part of their weird creepy bloodsucking powers? Seemingly emotionless expressions?

The young vampire made no effort to stop him though, so Tweek took the opportunity to put as much distance as he could between the boy and himself.

It was only when he was a fair distance away that he thought to regret it.

It had been so long since he’d met anyone, of any species. The animals of the forest were either food or his competition for food. Werewolves were dangerous because they might lead him back home, vampires were dangerous because they were creepy, and humans would probably make better food than companionship from what his parents had told him.

How much could he really trust of what his parents had said though? Tweek’s ears flattened to his head and he tiredly curled up below a tree. This place didn’t smell familiar and he could hear a stream nearby. It was a good place to rest briefly before he continued his endless journey.

* * *

 

Craig’s eyes were blown wider than Clyde had ever seen them. The rich kid didn’t spend much time in the kitchen, playing with the children of the help, but apparently whatever he’d seen was enough for him to burst with the need to tell anyone.

Even if it was just Clyde.

Clyde couldn’t help his giddy smile as he tried to catch up with whatever Craig was babbling about.

“It was _golden_.” Craig burst. It was only a touch louder than his normal nasally monotone but it actually took Clyde aback.

It was incredible to see Craig so emotional. Even if his expression still looked flat as cardboard, Clyde could smell a trail of fascination as well. It was amazing to see and smell.

“What was golden?” Clyde asked, revealing how very little he’d been listening to the entire exchange.

Craig was too excited to care, another rarity. He probably would have ditched Clyde for being an idiot if he wasn’t so pumped.

“The dog!”

Clyde nodded, a golden dog didn’t seem all that impressive to him but then again, he and the rest of his family could shift into canines as easily as breathing.

That was of course forbidden on the Tucker premises. They might be a bit liberal about who they were willing to hire to clean and cook compared to most vampires, but there were limits. Craig had probably never once seen a werewolf covered in fur.

Of course some wild dog would seem impressive. Clyde frowned. Craig hadn’t seen anything _really_ impressive to compare it to.

“It growled at me and then escaped into the forest. It looked really scared.” Craig stared into space, his imagination clearly taking hold, “I’m going to find it.”

That sounded like a bad idea to Clyde. But Craig was definitely smarter, with all his fancy tutors and whatnot.

Clyde’s family used to be able to afford fancy tutors before…

“And you’re coming with me.”

Clyde blinked, startled, “I am?”

Craig scoffed, “Obviously. I can’t go alone and Token still hasn’t come to visit.”

It was sometimes really amazing how Craig just decided on things and the entire matter was settled.

Clyde smiled and nodded, starting to feel somewhat excited over the prospect of meeting this mystery mutt and going on an adventure with Craig.

“First we're going to need some bait…” Craig brushed past him and further into the kitchen, “What do you think would attract a dog?”

Clyde didn't have to think, he knew. “Tacos. Definitely tacos.” It would attract him, after all.

Craig rubbed his chin, “Okay.”

They stood before the massive refrigerator and both simultaneously realized the same problem.

“How do you make tacos?” Craig asked first.

“Ask your mom.” Craig responded.

“But what if they ask why we need them? ”

They lapsed into silence. Neither of them were proficient liars and with the tensions in the household over the past few days, it was ill-advised to rock the boat.

“Do you think cookies would work?” Craig asked, gesturing towards a batch Craig’s mother had prepared for tea time.

Clyde thought about it seriously. He knew cookies were a major attraction for him but his older sister hated them. Finally, he nodded.

He didn’t want to tell Craig he didn’t know. This was the first time anyone had treated him like the authority on a topic, and he really liked it.

“Okay.” Craig responded and grabbed a few cookies, jamming them in his pockets and walking from the kitchen with Clyde on his tail.

“We’re going now?”

“If we wait too long, it could get away.” Craig said.

Clyde kicked a stone as they trudged through the back gate and into the woods behind the house. The Tucker residence spilled into the wilderness nicely. It was the ideal home for a werewolf,  but Clyde and his family actually lived closer to midtown.

Go figure that a bunch of rich vampires would have this amazing home and no way to fully appreciate it. Wouldn’t they do better off closer to farms or heavily populated areas all things considered?

A thought occurred to Clyde and he tugged on Craig’s sleeve to get his attention.

“What is it? Do you smell it?”

Clyde shook his head — he’d only really smelled the cookies since they left the house, “How come my mom made your mom cookies?”

Craig blinked, “What?”

“Well, you guys eat blood, right? How come you need a cook?”

Craig stared at him flatly, his own mouth dropping open as the cogs inside his brain began their movement.

“We don’t _just_ eat blood.” Craig said finally, sounding a bit unsure himself and trying to recall what his family had had to eat in the last few days, “We eat lots of stuff.”

“Than how come you need blood?” Clyde asked.

“...”

The boys stared at each other in silence as the noirette thought about it.

“I just do?” he didn’t seem sure of himself at all. His own diet and restrictions had never been a question he’d had to examine in his young life. He’d just needed to eat regularly what his parents prepared.

“Okay, ” Clyde chirped and Craig was a bit startled that the other boy accepted the answer so easily.

Had he taken an idiot on his quest?

“We need to focus.” Craig said, “Do you smell anything?”

Clyde’s nose scrunched as he sniffed and then he shrugged helplessly, “Lots of stuff. No dog though.”

Secretly Clyde panicked. He had no idea what a dog smelled like to begin with, how would he be able to tell Craig which strange smell in the forest was which? It didn’t help that his sense of smell was much worse when he wasn’t a wolf.

Craig didn’t mind all that much because he kept on through the forest with Clyde following after. They made it a fair distance from his home before Clyde heard his mother calling.

“I think we have to go back.”

Craig frowned. “We didn’t find the dog though.”

“We can try again tomorrow?” he tried to hide how eager he was for Craig to say yes. One adventure was a fluke, two adventures made them officially friends. Clyde didn’t make the rules.

Craig nodded, no clear sign he understood the implications of agreeing but Clyde burst into a wide grin regardless and took hold of Craig’s hand.

“Come on, let’s head back!”

He was so excited over the idea that he didn’t mention the hint of wolf he smelled. It was a bit off though so Clyde was sure that it might be the dog Craig had talked about. Craig would have just said wolf if it was a wolf.

* * *

 

A vampire and a werewolf.

Holding hands.

Tweek sniffed where the children had fled from hesitantly.

His nose didn’t lie. Neither had his eyes.

He’d never seen such a curious sight.

It was weird, bizarre, it didn’t make any _sense_. Things were supposed to make sense. There was no logic in vampires and werewolves being so friendly. Was he finally losing it?! Had he lost his mind already and imagined the entire thing?!

Tweek whimpered and hid his nose in the leaves.

One thing was for sure — he’d have to stick around the area long enough to make sense of what he’d seen.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The torn flesh adorned the cobbles like glistening wrapping paper in the early morning light; the unwrapped gifts being an assortment of organs, bones, and blood.

The viscera stank something unholy, washing over the already smelly neighborhood with a potpourri of rotting flesh. There was no discrimination in the victims, so far as they could be identified. A gruesome crime of destruction and death.

Not a single witness survived to tell the tale. Investigators are currently blaming hooligans taking a prank too far.

Gerald scoffed and lowered the newspaper. They always liked to sensualize these sorts of stories, over-dramatizing the true extent of the damage to sell more papers. Gerald had half a mind to take his family off of their mailing list if he didn’t have a begrudging respect for the craft.

This ridiculous exaggeration of a typical murder case was sure to inspire panic in the less educated. Gerald couldn’t help the way he sat a little straighter in his chair., Of course  _ he _ wouldn’t fall for something so childish.

“WHATWHATWHAT!”

He sighed through his teeth realizing too late that he had left his discarded paper within his wife’s reach.

“Gerald, have you seen this?”

So was to begin the long process of calming down his wife.

His sons entered the dining room without much enthusiasm. The pet was trailing after Kyle. Gerald didn’t spare the scene more than a glance while he talked down to his wife.

Ike pawed at a chair in an attempt to climb up and Kyle wordlessly lifted his brother to sit on the elevated cushion. He sat on his own chair and began eating without a word.

The pet stood off to the side. There were only four chairs at this particular dining table. Their grand dining room was reserved for dinner parties. Sheila insisted they have more intimate meals with one another when there were no guests.

Gerald had finally calmed down his wife by the time anyone noticed this state of affairs. Sheila, still fired up but with no where to direct her concern and protective instincts, turned sharply on her sons.

Both kept their heads down and minded their manners as they ate. She looked over to the wraith-like figure in the corner of the room and blinked owlishly.

“Bubbala?”

Kyle looked up at his assigned nickname and followed her gaze, grimacing at the sight, “Yes, mom?”

“Have you fed your pet?”

The table fell silent, even to the clinking of dishes. Gerald calculated how many days it had been since he’d brought home the creature and now his focus was also zeroed in on his son.

“Why should I?” Kyle grumbled, a fatal mistake he wouldn’t make usually. Apparently the sting of the unwanted gift was still giving him a bad attitude.

Sheila frowned. Gerald intervened while remembering his own promise to take responsibility and hoping to avert a fight with his wife later, “Don’t use that tone with your mother, young man. Do you have any idea how much that thing cost? If it dies because you didn’t feed it, you’ll be paying me back every penny.”

“But  _ dad _ …”

“No buts, Kyle.” Gerald said.

Sheila’s own ruffled feathers seemed to be calming down as well. Kyle sighed and picked a piece of fried eggplant from his plate and tossed it at the pets feet, “Eat.”

The room was still for a moment.

The pet leaned over, picked it up, and ate without complaint or expression.

Gerald mentally applauded himself for picking out the best human in the bunch. He was sure that some of them would not have responded so obediently.

Kyle turned back to his parents, “There. I fed him.”

That in itself was concerning. Kyle sounded as though he thought the matter was finished. No more necessity to feed. Gerald didn’t know a lot about humans but he was aware they needed sustenance in order to produce blood. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because that was apparently the last straw for Sheila.

“Kyle Broflovski.” Ouch, use of the full name was not a good sign. Kyle sat up in his chair stock-still. “Is that how I raised you to behave?”

“No, mom.”

The boy didn’t sound like he was talking to his mother; he sounded like a soldier being dressed down by a superior officer. Gerald shrunk in his own chair, eager to avoid becoming the target of her wrath.

“You got grease on the floor! And look at the poor thing,” she scrunched up her nose at Kenny, pity mixed in the same bowl as disgust, “It’s wasting away! You are going to make a platter for the poor creature right this instant, do you understand me?”

“Yes, mom.”

“That creature is your responsibility and you will take proper care of it!”

Kyle got to work with a speed and efficiency that really only the threat of his mother's wrath could inspire. Gerald leaned back in his chair and found his paper.

Oh, a local drunk man tried to jump off the clock tower. What an idiot.

* * *

An exact history of the current state of society would be a bit beyond difficult and enter the range of impossible. History is a biased game written by winners and twisted to meet the means of the powerful. Manipulated the masses into believing whatever is required of them and destroy the evidence of past crimes.

What is known has less to do with fact and more to do with political agenda. There’s stories of humans committing atrocities, there’s tales of a revolution, there’s the telltale signs of a change in the status quo.

The only reliable facts known to those who wish to maintain society as it is are that it all started with an alliance between sworn enemies. Centuries of war put aside for a common goal. The tensions are now all that remains.

These are the exact tensions that make situations like this.

“Sharon.”

“Sheila.”

Both women smiled stiff as stone. It was impossible to decipher how they actually felt about one another, all the audience knew was there was an etiquette that must be observed.

Children are less susceptible to such things but even the most foolhardy of children had the ability to read atmosphere. Stan Marsh was a boy most would consider a little dull to these societal conventions.

He smiled wide and if he currently possessed his tail, it would surely have batted the air with excitement. Kyle had to suppress his own grin at his best friend’s ineptitude. The older generation was well aware of the necessity of distant civility; Kyle only knew to mimic his mother.

“Wanna play?” Stan whispered while their mothers continued their cordial greetings, a slew of boring nothings they had heard countless times.

Kyle shot a look to his new ‘responsibility’ with a frown before giving the barest grin to his friend, “After they leave.”

Stan nodded and the children awaited the end of pointless boredom.

It was, by custom, a necessity that they be on good terms. The delicate truce is what gave them power, war with one another only put them all at risk.

It was also, by custom, a necessity that they remain ambivalent to one another. After all, centuries of wars and travesties weren’t forgotten so easily. Families who showed more than a dispassionate apathy towards one another were frowned upon.

Kyle didn’t really understand it. His tutor had explained it all but it sounded pretty dumb.

If they  _ had _ to get along, why did they also  _ have _ to hate doing so? It was senseless. Besides, Kyle liked Stan. The other boy had felt like an extension of himself since they were in diapers. So what if Stan had a tail sometimes? That just meant Kyle could make fun of him for having fleas. Win-win.

The only creature Kyle had an issue with was standing silently behind him. Seeming somehow nonchalant despite the tension cutting through the air. Was it just dumb? Could it not sense these things?

Its silence was really starting to grate on his nerves. It still hadn’t spoken a single word to him the entire time it had been here.

It hadn’t asked for food and it hadn’t even said hello or good morning. Kyle was currently doing his best to ignore the thing that ghosted his steps as much as possible,,

Stan followed his gaze and waved slightly at the pet. Kyle frowned, feeling a fresh dislike blossom in his chest. It was one thing for the obnoxious thing to mock him quietly, it was a whole other level of shitty for it to steal his best friend’s attention.

“Why don’t you boys find somewhere quiet to play?” Sheila said gently, cutting into the brand new tension that had arrived in the room. Stan nodded eagerly and Kyle mimed him.

It was fine. Nothing was going to ruin the fun with Stan. Kyle let himself be pulled from the room by his friend.

“We should go explore that creepy old well again.” Stan started as soon as they were a fair distance away from the parlor. “I bet we can figure out how deep it is if we find a longer rope.”

“Where are we going to find a longer rope?” Kyle asked. “The last one was the longest one in the gardener’s shed.”

Stan turned around suddenly, smiling at the pet, “Do you know where any longer ropes are? I’m Stan, by the way.”

Kyle nudged him, “Don’t talk to him.”

“Why?”

Stupid Stan.

“He’s just a dumb pet.” Kyle grumbled.

“Oh.” Stan thought it over for a moment and then shrugged, “Okay.”

Kyle was so sure his friend had understood. So sure that he’d even continued down the hall on the way to the garden.

“So what’s your name?” Stan asked curiously.

Kyle groaned, “He doesn’t  _ have _ one. He’s just…”

“Kenny.” The voice was clear. It was both soft and able to carry the sound across a distance. A soothing sound.

Kyle stopped in his tracks and turned around fully to face the current bane of his existence. The dumb thing wasn’t looking at him though; he was watching Stan carefully.

Stan smiled, “Nice to meet you, Kenny.”

That was too much for Kyle.

“How come you’ll talk to him but not me?!”

Kenny didn’t even glance in his direction. There was an upward twitch on his lips though and Kyle realized with horror that the bastard was suppressing a smile.

“Guys… are we going to the well or what?”

Stan, for all his normal density, was sounding pretty uncomfortable.

“No!” Kyle stomped his foot, “Not until he talks to me!”

It was one of those terrible awkward silences. The ones that no one can think of a response or resolution. Kyle was realizing too late that he’d just dug himself a grave. He couldn’t back down now. And considering Kenny hadn’t spoken a word to him since he arrived, it was unlikely he would either.

‘Kenny’.

Kyle frowned.

What a stupid name.

“Look, Kyle…”

“No!” Kyle didn’t know what he was refusing but he didn’t want to be placated. He hated this. He hated the thing haunting his steps. He  _ hated _ being ignored.

He stomped over to Kenny, nose to nose and glared into eyes that seemed to be looking past him somehow.

“Speak.”

Kenny stuck out his tongue. The tip hit Kyle and he rebounded backwards in horror, wiping at his face, “It  _ licked _ me!” he cried.

Stan’s laughter wasn’t helping matters.

“Don’t laugh! It  _ licked me _ ! It’s so disgusting!”

“If you think that’s disgusting, you really don’t wanna know what I did to your mother last night.”

_ “Excuse me?!” _

Kyle’s addled brain struggled to catch up with the implications of the words. His immediate ideas were quickly discarded as he tried to dissect the meaning. It felt like he was missing something.

“Dude.” Stan sounded as confused as he felt, “What does that mean?”

The pet started to giggle at their clear confusion.

Kyle furrowed his brows, nothing made sense. Did he lick his mom last night? That was sick. Why would he do that?

“Wait, you just spoke to me.”

That put a stop to the giggles. Kenny shrugged, looking away. He didn’t speak again.

He looked like he was holding in a laugh.

Kyle knew he was missing something.

“Seriously, did you lick Kyle’s mom? That’s weird.” Stan said.

That did it.

Kyle huffed and turned away from the creepy creature. Taking hold of Stan’s elbow he began dragging his best friend away.

“Don’t follow us!” he ordered.

He didn’t turn around to see if the pet obeyed.

His special day to play with Stan was being sullied with horrible visions of his pet licking his mom. Whatever headache inducing bullshit  _ Kenny _ wanted to create, Kyle wasn’t biting.

_ What an asshole. _

“Hey, Kyle, you can slow down. He’s gone.” Stan said.

Kyle released his death grip and slumped.

Was the day already ruined?

“So, are we going to the well?”

_ What would I do without Stan? _

Kyle smiled at the noirette, “Yeah. Maybe we can tie some rope to the other rope.”

It was always just that easy with Stan. Like an extension of himself. A person who would support him no matter what. His best friend.

“That kid is pretty weird though, I still don’t get why he licked your mom.”

They made it to the gardens but the search for the ropes was still taking some time.

“You don’t even know the half of it. It follows me  _ everywhere _ and it’s so creepy! It pretends to listen to me but purposefully misunderstands orders! It’s such a pain in the ass.” Kyle grumbled his complaints to his patient friend.

Stan shrugged, the creature didn’t seem all that awful to Stan, but he knew Kyle was smarter than him. Stan wasn’t a fan of humans, per se, but he’d never really been met with a compelling reason to dislike them. His dad's impassioned rants aside, Stan had learned ages ago to take his father’s word with a grain of salt. The corner of something brown and woven caught Stan’s eyes and he brightened up.

“Found it!” Stan cried, pulling out the rope they would use to investigate the bottom of the mysterious well. Arguably the most entertaining thing that could be done on the Broflovski property.

Kyle shared a grin but apparently he wasn’t done with his rant as his response had nothing to do with their joint quest: “I don’t know why father brought that thing home. What if it actually did lick my mom?”

Stan rolled his eyes but nodded, tying the rope towards the top of the rickety well. The garden was a muted affair all things considered, especially from Stan’s perspective. His own idea of nature was a lot more natural, more smells and colors, more variety and a sense that plants fought for dominance as much as he and his brethren did.

It was comforting to see natural foliage. It made his nose curl with distaste to see what the Broflovski’s considered appropriate for a garden. All neat rows of flowers separated by kind and delicately trimmed bushes to meet an obscure idea of perfection. Even the trees looked like they had suffered through some form of unnatural manicure.

Really, it was things like this that almost made him understand his families dislike of vampire-kind. They had this insane need to  _ control _ everything and sometimes the world would be so much better outside of their control.

Stan realized that Kyle had still been talking about every inane little activity the human had taken part in, every tiny action outside of the tiny vampires realm of control, grating on his every nerve.

Really. Stan loved his friend but it was moments like these he found the other boy difficult to tolerate.

“Are we gonna go down the well?” Stan cut in, gesturing towards the old stones, rickety wood, and untamed overgrowth that was the purpose of their journey.

It was the overgrowth that made Stan so eager, so fascinated. In the perfectly managed garden there was a seemingly untouched and decrepit well, completely devoid of the the controlling nature of the owners.

That, and Stan’s nose always twitched near it. There was something queer smelling inside the well. He could tell.

It wasn’t a good smell, but Stan’s curiosity couldn’t be quelled with something as simple as stink. After all, the entirety of his friends manor smelled something awful. Even his best friend himself smelled like an unpleasant mixture of blood and chemicals.

Kyle nodded, frowning at Stan for cutting him off. More and more lately Stan had been defying him. It didn’t make even the slightest bit of sense. They were practically the same person with how well aligned their interests were. How could Stan possibly benefit from disagreeing with him?

Both boys gazed into the seemingly bottomless pit, wordlessly raising their hands in a simple rock-paper-scissors, getting through four rounds before they stopped tying. Another testament to how similar they truly were.

Kyle lost and began down the rope first, frowning up at his best friend’s descending butt, the rope felt course and unpleasant against his skin and the darkness of the well made him uncomfortable, just as uncomfortable as-- “His eyes are so weird. I’ve never seen a shadow quite like it. In some lighting it almost looks purple. Most of the time it’s just this deep, unsettling blue. Like I can’t even tell what he’s thinking; they’re empty of emotion but at the same time--it’s weird, but I can’t help but wonder--”

Stan let out a long suffering sigh, the climb down was hard enough without Kyle’s ridiculous rant, “Dude.”

“--what  _ is _ he thinking? What would his eyes look like if--”

“ _ Dude _ .”

“What?!” Kyle snapped, glaring again the the arse of Stan Marsh. They were maybe 15 feet down the well at this point, still a fair length from the bottom. Stan was messing with his concentration!

“I have blue eyes too. No need to spend ten minutes talking about the shade of them. Seriously, what is with you and that guy?”

Kyle grunted, “Nothing. You’d be pissed too if you got stuck taking care of someone creepy like him.”

Stan paused his descent. It wasn’t the first time Kyle had assumed his agreement. It wouldn’t be the last time. But somehow this time in particular grated on him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t. Licking your mom aside, he seemed pretty okay.” Stan said petulantly.

Kyle gaped at his ass. Stan was  _ his _ , his best friend, his twin, his person--this weird dumb creature had  _ Stan _ turning against him?

“Take that back,” he said, voice trembling.

Stan continued downwards silently and Kyle felt his anger get the better of him. He rattled the rope, causing Stan to hit the wall and lose his grip.

It all happened so quickly. Kyle realized his mistake too late and Stan started tumbling downwards straight at him, causing him to temporarily lose his grip as well.

The well was deep. Kyle well knew from their other adventures and they had no idea how deep. Even with the accelerated healing of a wolf, neither of them might survive the initial drop. With that knowledge, Kyle gripped desperately for the rope, getting hold but continuing to slide down under Stan’s weight. The burn and friction of the rope against his palm caused the flesh to burn and tear. Kyle winced but didn’t dare to let go.

Stan slipped passed him. In one horrifying moment Kyle felt the boy’s weight tip the wrong direction and he was going to drop into the abyss alone.

Kyle’s eyes widened with terror and he shot his other hand out, “Stan!”

Stan’s eyes met his and there was the understanding from years of friendship immediately shone there and he caught hold of Kyle’s hand, swinging from the momentum and hitting the wall again.

It knocked the air out of his werewolf friend but their hands stayed joined, Kyle’s hold on the rope keeping them suspended mid air.

Kyle tried to catch his breath, tears of fear and shock falling freely at the realization of what one rash and foolish move had almost cost him. He gulped as he understood how perilous their situation still was.

Stan was barely aware, shocked and coughing, his injured hand wasn’t strong enough to pull them both up and the depths below them filled him with dread.

He didn’t know how long he could hold on either.

“Stan?” His voice trembled, “Are you okay?”

Stan didn’t answer, the impact with the wall apparently still wracking his small frame. Kyle felt fearful tears prick his already wet eyes.

There was a tug from above and Kyle looked up seeing nothing but the lip of the well. Was he imagining it? Or--terror filled Kyle at the thought--had the jerky movements been enough to crack the eroded wood they’d tied the rope to?

There was a repeated tug and this time, Kyle knew he hadn’t imagined it. They were ascending.

“Hello?” he called out, desperately, fearfully. ho could possibly have known where they were? No one should be in the garden; Kyle had personally made sure of it to ensure his adventure with Stan could go off without a hitch.

There was no response from above, just the continued pull. It was slow. So slow it caused Kyle to look at his own hand fearfully. Could he hold out for long enough to reach the lip of the well? Was he even being pulled to safety or was it his imagination?

“What… happened?” Stan asked, sounding dazed and Kyle felt a burble of fresh fear that the noirette may have hit his head.

Kyle wanted to answer but his strength was leaving him. He could only grunt, puting all of his focus on holding firmly to rope and hoping that the flesh of his palm didn’t peel straight off. As if in response to his fears, he slid down an inch before he reaffirmed his grip, holding tighter than ever.

They were near the lip before Stan finally had the sense to release some of Kyle’s burden, taking hold of the rope beneath him and allowing Kyle to grab hold of the rope with two hands, and finally  _ the lip of the well-- _ Kyle pulled himself out unseeingly and heaving large lungfuls of air with relief, he immediately turned to help Stan out but Stan had already crawled out, looking at something behind Kyle.

The human was still clutching the rope, feet planted against a tree to give him leverage, the rope around his hands red stained with blood, and blue eyes giving Kyle that same infuriatingly empty look.

Kyle’s adrenaline coursed through him and he staggered to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at Kenny, “I told you not to follow me!”

The human relinquished a breath he must have been holding in, finally releasing the rope with trembling hands and Kyle saw they were even more torn up than his own.

How strong was this human? Kyle knew that vampires were stronger than humans and he’d barely been able to handle Stan and his own weight, leverage or not, this human had managed to pull them both up. At the cost of some gnarly looking damage to his own hands.

Before he could even think to regret his words, Stan had rushed forward to assess the injury, asking if the  _ human _ was okay. As if  _ Kyle _ wasn’t the one who saved them both. He didn’t need the stupid human’s help. He could have gotten them out of there on his own.

With gritted teeth, he stalked away, hearing the concerned words as he left.

“Are you okay? Your hands look seriously fucked up.”

Kyle hand throbbed with a similar pain and he hated Stan for caring more about a  _ stranger _ than his best friend.

Even more upsettingly, he could hear the humans soft clear voice replying, “I’m okay.”

Kyle avoided Stan for the rest of his visit and made sure that the pet didn’t get dinner as punishment. He’d almost felt bad about it until he spotted Kenny’s sloppily wrapped hands, clearly Stan’s clumsy attempt at first aid, and knowing that alone made Kyle hate the creature even more.

* * *

The sky was much more welcoming than the floor. Kenny wasn’t really sure how much he had slept in the past few weeks. He was aware it was less than he should have. Mostly naps while Kyle toiled with his tutor and one or two hours before dawn in his designated corner.

Honestly, the carpeted floor of Kyle’s bedroom was actually far more comfortable than the hard floor he’d slept on with his family. That didn’t stop him from preferring the latter.

The feel of Kevin next to him or the gentle sound of Karen’s breathing. The warmth that came with love and the knowledge that sleep was a valuable commodity.

Sleep made him uncomfortable here in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. So instead he stared up at the stars for hours and hours, memorizing constellations and waiting for sleep deprivation to take away his ability to care.

He also loved having time away from Kyle’s little displeased sniffs. The dumb rich brat could sleep the night away and Kenny could be free from annoyance for a blessed few hours. His hands still throbbed unpleasantly from the damage they’d received rescuing the ungrateful asshole. At least that Stan dude didn’t seem like a total shit-head. Poor choice in friends, though.

He thought he knew all the sounds the house made in the night, but as he looked up to the sky and pretended to be somewhere far away, he could hear something shuffling just outside of Kyle’s door.

He stiffened, turning with dread towards the door and making his way back in from the balcony. He thought for a moment he was imagining it until a stifled whimper informed him exactly what he was hearing.

Relaxing his shoulders, Kenny opened the door gently and spotted Ike’s wet eyes peering in from the darkness.

“Bad dweam.”

Kenny wondered briefly if the kid always went to his brother’s room after having a nightmare. Did they have a better relationship than the earlier violence would have indicated?

“Oh.” Kenny said, crouching down next to him, “Do you want me to get Kyle?”

His voice felt a bit hoarse from disuse but he wasn’t about to withhold comfort from a scared kid.

Ike shook his head and took hold of Kenny’s sleeve, “Come?”

There really was nothing to do but follow the toddler down the hall, in an awkward crouch so that he could maintain his hold on Kenny’s sleeve. Kenny couldn’t think of any other options at least.

For all he knew he was being led directly into a trap and even with that knowledge, he knew he’d always follow the silly kid.

If he could turn away, he wouldn’t have opened the door to begin with.

Ike led them to his bedroom and Kenny wondered how the kid had even got the door open to escape. He reasoned the kid must have just never had it closed. Kenny decided to allow it to stay open even as he scooped Ike up and put him in bed, tucking him in gently. Ignoring the sting lifting the child put in his still aching palms.

He wished he could have had nice comforters like this when he tucked in Karen. He hoped they could afford nice blankets like this with the stipend they recieve.

Ike held onto him still, adjusting his grip to hold onto three of Kenny’s fingers with all the might a two year old could muster.

Kenny didn’t spot any children's books nearby. Not like he could read them but he figured the pictures could act as a distraction. Ike was still wide awake and he wasn’t about to let go of Kenny’s fingers until the nightmares had been chased away.

He smiled despite himself, a mirror of so many times he’d put Karen to bed. Slowly and careful to keep his voice low in the silent house, Kenny began to hum.

_ “Twinkle, twinkle little star.” _

Ike smiled, content with the sound and excited for his lullaby.

_ “How I wonder what you are.” _

The night sky had plenty of mysteries he’d yet to figure out. His life had every twist and turn that he couldn’t predict.

_ “Up above the sky so high, like a diamond in the sky.” _

If Ike truly were a star he was supposed to hold and protect… Kenny still didn’t think he could. But he wanted to. Ike’s eyes grew heavier with each verse, his tiny grip getting weaker.

_ “When the blazing sun is gone.” _

Kenny felt like his own eyes were growing heavier. He knew he had to return to Kyle’s room after he put Ike to sleep. He wasn’t worried even when he closed his song as he sang.

He wasn’t going to fall to sleep-sleep. Not at the edge of a bed while singing.

_ “When he nothing shines… upon…” _

Ike’s hand was warm. The bed was warm. A sort of warmth he hadn’t felt in weeks. Kenny figured a few minutes couldn’t hurt.

_ “Then you shine your little…” _

Sleep took him.

* * *

It was probably the scandalized gasp that caused him to stir. It was the following “Whatwhatwhat!” that really made him aware of his situation.

He’d fallen asleep like a fool.

Kenny almost didn’t dare to look up, but he didn’t have much of a choice. The movement made him aware that the small vampire boy was hugging him.

Shit.

“Kyle!” Sheila called from her place in the doorway, eyes moving entirely away from the scene but her posture still screamed there was trouble.

A groggy Kyle made his way over from a few doors down, “What is it ma?”

“What is your pet doing in Ike’s room?”

Kyle blinked sleep away and finally looked over to where a sleeping Ike was still clinging to Kenny. His eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing to my brother!”

Kenny opened his mouth, almost breaking his self-imposed vow of silence but found he didn’t really have any words. He couldn’t even put together why this was a big deal. He knew it was though and he dreaded if the head of the household would get involved as well.

Ike finally stirred, looking up at him groggily, “K’nny?”

Kenny smiled weakly, disentangling himself from the child now that there was no danger of waking him up. It was best to keep Ike out of the blast zone of whatever punishment was coming for him.

There really was no telling with these creatures what they were or weren’t willing to do.

“Why isn’t it in your room?” Sheila admonished, “This is unacceptable.”

Kyle shrugged, “It must have snuck out. I didn’t tell it to bother Ike! It just does weird shit. It’s weird!”

“What did you just say, young man? I did not raise you to use that kind of language!”

Sheila turned sharply on Kenny, gesturing for him to follow and he didn’t need further prompting, quickly following in step behind Sheila as she guided the two back to Kyle’s room.

She opened the door and looked around, clearly about to start some sort of lecture before she stopped short.

“Where’s its bed?”

Kyle blinked at his mother, pointing at the corner Kenny had called home for the past few weeks.

There was a pregnant silence where the cogs in her head clearly turned. Kenny sensed impending danger and backed away just a step.

“Kyle Broflovski!” her voice had entered a full lecture, “This creature is your responsibility and you haven’t gotten him a pet bed?”

“How could I possibly get him one?” Kyle frowned, still unwilling to take the blame, “You guys just shoved it on me without warning!”

“It’s no wonder the poor creature is crawling into bed with Ike if it doesn’t have anywhere to sleep.” Sheila turned on him and Kenny flinched away from the intensity of her gaze, Sheila had yet to do anything cruel to him but she still unnerved him to no end. Something about her said  _ unstoppable _ in a way words could not. “What kind of bed does your kind use?”

She probably didn’t mean to sound so condescending but Kenny still felt patronized. He shrugged helplessly, though. Sure, he was used to the hard stone, but he was relatively sure that wasn’t what was ‘supposed’ to be used.

“Where have you slept until now?” She amended her question, clearly seeming to think she could get a better answer if she just changed it up a bit.

Kenny looked towards his designated corner and shrugged again, it was technically his corner but he really hadn't spent much time sleeping in it. Or sleeping at all.

Sheila seemed to realize how useless he would be in this matter and immediately turned back to her enraged son, taking hold of his good hand. “Come on, Bubbula. We’re going to the market. I’m sure they'll know what’s appropriate for the poor creature.”

Kyle shot an accusatory glare as his mother escorted him away, complaining loudly, but the sound was muted as the door closed behind the two, leaving Kenny staring at the spot she had been in.

Kenny was sure he’d get into trouble. He was half-sure he was in trouble. He just wasn’t really sure what that trouble was.

One thing was positive: that Kyle brat was going to hate him three times as much when he returned. He was proven right by another day of enduring Kyle’s obnoxious fits and petty revenge attempts for perceived slights.

* * *

Kyle awoke to the quiet click of his own door.

The adventure for the bed had left him resentful and exhausted. He made sure to get the creature what looked like the smallest, most uncomfortable one among the options--a circular cushion relatively close to the ground--but considering his mothers taste in shops, he couldn’t really get anything too low. They simply didn’t sell anything that didn’t have the highest level of comfort in mind.

The click of his door was the last straw, though. He’d endured shopping for the creature’s bed and everything and it was  _ still _ sneaking away? Probably to lick his mom or something creepy like that.

Kyle stood up quietly, following after the retreating figures to Ike’s room. Figures? Ike was already with him?

Kyle’s brow knitted quizzically at the mystery now presented to him, silently peeking into the room just as Kenny had lifted his baby brother to bed. Ike clearly missed the wince of pain, but Kyle spotted it. It must hurt to carry Ike like that, especially with how the toddler was squeezing his hand for comfort.

“Song!” Ike burbled gleefully.

Kyle could just see as Kenny’s soft expression opened with a small smile. “Again? This is the last time.”

There was no real force to the words. They meant Kenny would probably sing as many times as Ike asked. Even Kyle could recognize the kind concession in his voice.

“Song!” Ike confirmed, full of delight.

And so Kenny sang. An unfamiliar jingle about the stars and wishes and Kyle was momentarily at a loss.

Was this why Kenny had snuck out before?

He looked down at his hurt hand, trying to remember his anger as the calming voice cast a spell of calm over him.

He should be angry with Kenny. Kenny was--

Kyle dropped his hand and slid to the floor, listening to Kenny’s gentle voice.

He should apologize to Stan. He was being an asshole. His own cuts were mostly healed but Kenny’s had a remarkable change on his ability to move.

And for what?

Kyle closed his eyes. Why did his anger always blind him to simple things? Kenny didn’t deserve his wrath. The stupid human couldn’t do anything.

The stupid human couldn’t do anything but he’d still sacrificed his hands to save Kyle and Stan. Maybe Kyle really could have gotten them out of there on his own, but the human didn’t know that. He couldn’t have. He’d just acted.

And now here he was just acting. Putting Ike to sleep with a soft voice and suffering Kyle’s misplaced anger in exchange. Kyle swallowed a lump in his throat and felt miserable.

The guilt gnawed at his insides.

How was the stupid human so strong?

How could he take all of this without complaint? Kyle knew he would have pitched a fit if he’d been denied dinner. Or called even half the things Kyle had thrown at him.

It was a strength Kyle didn’t have and he hated it as much as he respected it.

It was a complicated emotion, bubbling beneath the surface within Kyle and coming out in warm unwanted globs of salty tears.

Frustration, resentment, anger, guilt--mixed inside into an intolerable cocktail.

Kyle cried himself to sleep outside his baby brother’s room, to the sounds of a voice that would never be spoken for him. A song that was never meant for him.

Knowing that made it hurt just a bit more.

* * *

Gerald was having a delightful few weeks. The truth he’d had the public extract from rumor and conspiracy had the Tucker family on their knees. The stupid heathens hadn’t appeared at a single public event since the word had spread and best of all, tonight--Gerald licked his lips as he made his way to his son's room.

Tonight was finally the perfect timing to begin enacting his plan. He could hardly believe how easy it would be. Especially now that it turned out the boy occasionally wandered off in the night. The perfect alibi in case he was caught.

Gerald gently edged open the door to Kyle’s room and stared into the darkness finding….nothing.

Neither his son nor the pet were present.

Gerald nearly snarled, shutting the door and returning to his study. Hunting the halls for them would only have his son asking questions he didn’t want to deal with.  Better to confront them in the morning.

He took an agitated seat at his desk, quill at the ready and full of malice. If he couldn’t have what he wanted tonight, he would be sure to make sure the Tucker’s suffered a humilation that they would never recover from.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. Please comment and kudos if you have time.


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